


After The End

by probablyawful



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:08:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probablyawful/pseuds/probablyawful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on the events of the series 6 finale, that weren't properly addressed in the overall episode - as I imagined them. The aftermath of Thomas' suicide attempt and his acquaintances' reactions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - Tougher Than You Look

**Author's Note:**

> This work carries heavy references to depression and suicide, so don't read if these are subjects you're too uncomfortable with. Also keep in mind that I have only watched this episode once, and I don't remember every detail of it. I also made it necessary to have the Mary/Henry wedding plans take place simultaneously as the events of this story, even if that is not how it occurred in the episode. Enjoy!

He hadn't expected to wake up, but he wasn't stupid either. He had been well aware of the fact that there was a slight possibility that he would, as he had sunk into the warm water, allowing himself to bleed out properly. Made sure to cut as deep as possible, had watched in passive fascination as blood poured out of his body, followed by a pain sharp enough to numb down the constant, dull ache within him for a brief moment before he slipped into unconsciousness entirely deliberately.  
He thought he had made sure to cut as deep as possible, at least.

And he hadn't expected to wake up, but he did. He would be lying had he said he felt anything upon the realization that he was alive. Because he truly didn't. No relief, but no astute frustration either. Embarrassment, perhaps, but only for a brief moment, and he couldn't say he didn't wonder who had found him. He scanned the room through his peripherals, only coming to the conclusion that he was alone as soon as Anna entered the room with a tray. She stopped briefly in the doorway upon her entrance, before her posture softened entirely and a small smile plastered itself upon her features. He could tell she tried not to look as if she pitied him, but she only halfway managed it. - “Thank God,” she muttered under her breath and he felt a lump forming in his throat at that, but he didn't know why. Gratitude, perhaps, however miserable that sounded, that an individual on this godforsaken planet actually sighed with relief upon the realization that he was alive and breathing. He wished he could have some of that relief upon the same realization. She came closer and put the tray down next to him. Buttered toast, tea, more luxurious than what the servants usually got to eat. He felt hungry but knew he wouldn't be able to keep it down. Any of it. Anna sat down next to him then, and as she reached out and pulled some of his dark, damp locks away from his forehead, she reminded him, only briefly, of her mother, as he vaguely remembered her, and he couldn't tell why. There was just something entirely, strangely… maternal about her, and the lump grew tighter. He wasn't going to cry, as he had already lost enough pride for today. But he didn't manage to look at her with disdain either, just with wonder for a brief moment.  
Anna folded her hands in her lap and fixed her gaze on them rather than him, which was oddly helpful in a way. - “Want to tell me why you did it?”  
Only then did he realize she must have been crying, as her voice was hoarse and uncharacteristically strained. Nearly an octave lower than usual. No, he didn't want to, but he felt he owed her something in the way of an explanation, so he just muttered: - “There's nothing for me here anymore.”  
Anna bit her lip and looked at him. He had to look away as his sight became hazy. She looked ready to protest, vehemently so, but seemed to decide the better of it, and just shook her head.  
\- “Of course there is.”  
He didn't believe her, not for a second. Like a petulant child, he was certain she only said it to make him feel better, because she had to. What else was she going to say? That he was right? She wouldn't, even if you payed her. This was Anna – she was probably walking on eggshells around him, terrified that he was going to break. The thought made him want to throw up. Was that how they would all regard him now? Like a volcano ready to erupt?  
He didn't have the energy to argue with her, so he just fell further down on the pillows.  
\- “Are you in any pain?” she asked, suddenly back to work, and her voice carrying a slightly lighter tone.  
Yes.  
He shook his head no, muttered the word, low enough to come out only in the way of a breath.  
\- “They found you just in time,” she explained, and he flinched, almost visibly. It can't have been a pleasant sight, he had actually considered that, which was part of the reason why he hadn't gotten fully unclothed as he got in the bath. The shock of seeing him bleed to death wouldn't be made any less vulgar had he been in the nude.  
\- “Who did?” he asked, and his throat felt unbearably sore. Using his arms to get into a seating position, he hissed vaguely as his wrists were strained. Anna reacted instantly, lifted him up. He smiled vaguely.  
\- “You're tougher than you look,” he pointed out dryly, and Anna smiled brightly then. Too brightly. He reached for his tea, allowing the hot liquid to medicate his throat at least somewhat. Anna sighed deeply.  
\- “Baxter and Andy found you,” she explained, looking pained as she did so, and he nodded slowly in return. Then he frowned. Wasn't Baxter heading out with Molesley? He figured he couldn't worry too much about that.  
\- “'M sorry,” he muttered and Anna looked taken aback. As if his words had shocked or frightened her.  
\- “Mr. Barrow, you have nothing to apologize for.”  
He chuckled dryly. - “Haven't I?”  
Anna looked ready to cry again, and put her hand on his cheek. - “No. Not for a second.” Her gaze was oddly persistent then, the strictest he had ever seen her – showcasing some inhumane level of inner strength, practically forcing his eyes to meet hers. She truly was stronger than she looked. In that moment he didn't dare argue with her.  
\- “Why are you being so nice to me?” he couldn't help but ask, - “I've been nothing but awful to you.”  
Anna sighed. - “Had anyone showed you kindness sooner, I don't think you would have to do the questionable things you have,” she stated. Then she sighed deeply and got up from the bed. She touched his good hand for a while, allowing her fingers to slide across the bandage for a brief moment, ensuring that it was secure and solid, before squeezing his hand ever so slightly.  
\- “Get some more rest, Mr. Barrow,” she stated softly, - “And don't you worry. You will not be alone.” She straightened her uniform before leaving. In the doorway she stopped herself. - “You're not alone.”  
But he was, wasn't he? Still no energy to argue. - “Thanks,” he muttered through chapped lips.  
\- “Thank me for nothing,” she stated with a sad smile, - “Sleep tight, Mr. Barrow.”


	2. Chapter 2 - All To Blame?

She didn't start crying until after she had left the room, clutching her hand absentmindedly to her stomach, as if the small life growing in there was now providing life for her as well, rather than the other way around. Soft sobs escaped her, and as she was about to pull herself together, she felt strong arms around her, and recognized she found herself in the familiar, content embrace of her husband.

\- “My love, my love,” he whispered softly, only to pull away, cupping her face in his hands. Then he sighed deeply, wiped away some of her tears and nodded towards Thomas' room.

\- “How is he?”

Anna shrugged with wilderness. - “How do we know?” she asked, almost bitterly, - “How does anybody know? He is the most guarded man on the planet, it's impossible to tell what is going through his head...”

She wiped her tears from her face in a frustrated manner and straightened up.  
\- “You shouldn't strain yourself too much,” Bates insisted, - “Not in your condition.”

Anna shook her head. - “I'll be fine, truly,” she insisted, - “Don't worry about me.”

Bates smiled sadly but gave in. She was a tough nut, his wife, and after everything they had overcome, her helping out a depressed colleague wouldn't be the worst trial of them all. It just served as a testament to how much he loved her; her astute selflessness and helpfulness.

She sighed at her own attempt then. - “What am I standing here moping for? I should tell Ms. Baxter he's awake...”

Bates hummed an answer and softly pressed a kiss to his wife's lips, before heading upstairs.

Anna practically ran down the hallway, into the kitchen where Mrs. Patmore and Daisy were working their magic as usual.  
Despite the high energy level in the room, neither were saying much, and Baxter and Andy were both seated next to each other by the table, tea cups in hand, having said nothing to one another for the past hour. It had been twenty hours since they found him.  
After having sent for Dr. Clarkson, Anna had been the first they'd told. Then Mrs. Hughes. Then Molesley had walked in on the scene as Dr. Clarkson put Thomas into bed, wondering in bewilderment where Baxter had gone off to. Then Mrs. Patmore and Daisy, before Bates and Carson got hold of the news. Not everybody needed to know, surely, but better they knew than gossiped about it. God knew Thomas had been subject to quite enough gossip in his life, and this particular working environment had sadly not been an exception to that rule.

The reactions had been mixed. Anna's only thought had been 'I should have known', a reaction similar to that of Molesley's in many ways. Mrs. Hughes had looked guilt-ridden, as if she had let him down somehow. Anna failed to see how so, but she supposed it was a feeling in the back of everyone's mind. How could they have made it better? How could they have made it not so? Why didn't they read the signs? It was impossible to know in hindsight and not quite necessary to dwell on, in truth. But she couldn't help herself either. Daisy had started crying and Mrs. Patmore had allowed her a ten minute break to calm her nerves. She had kept stirring the pot until the soup was starting to boil into damp, as she had muttered about the sadness of it all. Pointing out shallow, vague examples of signs, which Anna didn't know if were legitimate or only in her own head.

Anna had been the one to tell Mr. Bates, in private, not wanting to make more of a spectacle of it, and he didn't look surprised either, which infuriated her. Not because she was angry with him specifically, but more so at herself. Because she hadn't been surprised either. Nor did anyone seem to, to be frank, and if that wasn't an indicator that something was incredibly, immeasurably wrong, then what was?

Mrs. Hughes had been the one to tell Mr. Carson, and he had been impossible to read all day, muttering about not wanting a scandal in the house. It appeared oddly selfish, but in order not to let her temper get the better of her, Anna decided he must have been in shock, not knowing how to deal with the news. Perhaps Carson was the only one surprised? Lucky him, in a sense.

\- “He's awake,” she stated, and Baxter's eyes widened. She left her seat immediately, before practically running upstairs. Andy got up from his chair, eyes bloodshot from crying.

\- “How is he?”

Anna figured she loathed that question. - “I don't know. He is speaking, at least...” It sounded tame, too little, somehow, but Andy settled for the explanation.

\- “Good,” he stated, - “That's good.” He attempted a smile which came out more like a grimace.

Anna felt proudly impressed with the young man and how he had handled the event of the past hours. He was visibly upset now, looking like a scared little boy, poor thing, but he had acted like a man in the heat of the moment. Jumping into action at Baxter's orders, knowing perfectly well how to act in a crisis. Anna felt solemnly happy that Thomas at least had friends like that in his life, however few they were of them. A dark voice in the back of her mind told her he didn't know that.

Seemingly realizing Thomas couldn't afford too much company at the same time, Andy sat back down again, resting his head in his hands briefly for a moment. Then he looked up.

\- “He's not all bad, you know,” he said firmly, - “Not at all.”

Mrs. Patmore's face contorted and Anna couldn't say she understood why so. There were a lot of things she didn't understand.

\- “Well, of course he isn't!” Daisy insisted. It was kind of her, but Anna knew precisely were Andy was coming from. He was certainly not all bad – maybe not bad at all, as a matter of fact – but they had certainly all acted like it sometimes.

\- “Oh Andy…,” Mrs. Patmore suddenly stated, and Andy looked to her.

\- “What?”

She shook her head, looking deeply troubled. - “Mrs. Patmore, what is it?” Daisy inquired, resting a hand on her shoulder.

\- “I feel so rotten, is all…,” Mrs. Patmore confessed, - “Andy, the other day at the picnic when you told us he had helped you read, I knew I had messed up something terribly...”

She breathed a deep sigh, not daring to meet the eyes of either of them, and Anna instantly felt extremely sorry for the poor woman. - “I overheard you talk a while back, and I misunderstood the whole thing… I assumed...” She stopped herself, sighing exasperatedly at her own motivations. - “You know what I assumed.”

An uncomfortable silence spread across the room, before Andy chuckled humorlessly. - “Don't worry, Mrs. Patmore, it's not the first time people made assumptions like that about him.”

\- “Oh, but I told Mr. Carson,” Mrs. Patmore said, voice choked up now, - “I feel so stupid now, I...”

She wiped furiously at her eyes, and Daisy got up to wrap her arms around her. Mrs. Patmore allowed her to for a while, before shrugging her off and telling her to get back to work.

Maybe I was right, Anna thought, - maybe we are all to blame, after all.


	3. Chapter 3 - Nothing Was Simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief moment between Thomas and Ms. Baxter.

Chapter 3  
Her heart was pounding in her chest as she stood outside his door, his title and surname elegantly plastered on the door, and she lifted her fist to knock softly. She felt exhausted, as if her feet were about to give out from beneath her, collapsing, her entire body deciding it couldn't do anymore. Enough for today. She opened the door to see Thomas opening his eyes, and she had never felt such relief, such utter bliss as she did in that moment. He looked so much smaller at that moment, so much less than she had ever seen him.

\- “My darling, I thought we lost you...” Then she stalked over to his bed put his untouched tray to the vanity, and grasped his hands in hers.

He was already in a seated position, propped up by pillows behind his back, looking so unbearably tired. She wouldn't let go of him, held onto him like a vice, terrified that if she let go he would disappear forever, and it dawned on her, that strange as it was, he was a person she couldn't afford to lose. Despite and because of everything. She wanted to cry with relief as she felt his hands clasp around hers as well. He didn't look at her, fixed his gaze to their hands as well.

\- “Well, I'm still here, as it happens…,” he muttered, and the sound of his voice sent a pang of selfish joy to her heart. He gestured to himself briefly. - “So much for bravery, huh?” He chuckled dryly, a tear escaping his eyes that he quickly wiped away.

\- “Don't say that, my love, this isn't your fault,” Baxter insisted.

\- “Then whose fault is it?” Thomas asked, giving her a challenging look which she recognized immediately. He was back, at least some part of him, and she interpreted it as a good sign that he at least was willing to fight again.

Baxter shrugged and shook her head as if to clear it. - “All of us, probably.”

Thomas grinned apathetically. - “You know as well as I do that's not true.”

She didn't want to argue with him, was scared it could make it worse. She vowed then and there not to leave him alone again, which was a ridiculous promise as he would, once he got back on his feet, give her hell for it. At least she hoped so. But nothing was certain anymore, it seemed.

\- “Heard you found me,” he said tamely.

Baxter nodded, shuttering vaguely at the memory. - “Andy and I got there just in time,” she said, and he nodded solemnly, having heard it before, apparently. Then she fixed her gaze at him.   
\- “Never do that again. Ever.”

Thomas sighed, leaned his head back against the headboard, before asking: - “How did you, though? Find me, I mean? Weren't you out for a walk with Molesley or something?”

He was so painfully pale, intertwining with the walls almost. Baxter swore she would never mistrust her intuition ever again after that walk.

\- “I just… had a feeling,” she said, - “Molesley told me what you said to him and I just... knew.”  
She shrugged. - “Simple as that.” It wasn't simple. None of this was simple. But Thomas' gaze softened remarkably at her words.

\- “You dropped everything and ran because you had a feeling?” he asked slowly, incredulousness evident on his sharp features.

Baxter frowned. - “Is that so hard to believe?”

Thomas didn't answer, just looked at her in complete and utter bewilderment. - “For me?” he asked, as if needing the confirmation, - “You ran out on your date with Molesley, because you had a feeling, for me?” He sounded as if he couldn't for the life of him be brought to believe it. Still, Baxter prayed to a God she had lost faith in a long time ago that it was gratitude she noticed in his eyes.

\- “Of course I did,” she said warmly, - “I couldn't risk losing you, I don't know what I would have done…”

Thomas' mouth fell agape slightly, in evident shock. - “That's… That was very nice of you, Ms. Baxter.”

They didn't say more for a long while. Dr. Clarkson came in over the course of their comfortable silence together, to see to his wounds, whether or not the bandages needed changing, which they didn't.

\- “Glad to see you're awake,” he stated amicably, before nodding to Ms. Baxter and escaping again. Thomas didn't respond to any of his concerns, at least not with anything but vague smiles and poignant looks.

Thomas had more questions up his sleeve after Clarkson had left. - “What was it like, seeing me?”

\- “Devastating,” Baxter said firmly, suppressing the ice cold chill down her spine at the far too recent memory. She found herself longing for the day she couldn't remember this one anymore. But that was not likely to ever happen. - “If you're ever that unhappy… Please talk to me. Please?”

It wasn't truly a question or a plea, as much as a demand. - “I will try, Ms. Baxter,” Thomas stated, but it sounded empty, - “I can't promise you more than that.” He stopped for a moment.   
\- “Devastated,” he repeated, - “Weren't you disgusted or scared or… something?”

\- “I was disgusted with whatever cruel force in this world had caused you all this pain,” Baxter stated honestly, - “And I was terrified, of course… But I suppose I can pride myself on being good in a crisis, so at least I acted pretty quickly...”

Thomas smiled vaguely. - “Told you you are stronger than you think.”

Baxter met his gaze then and for the first time that day she felt a real smile find its way on her features.

\- “So…,” Thomas said, reaching out for the tea, wincing as he did so. It had gotten cold but he still drank it in one sip, being unbearably thirsty. - “I forgot to ask you what you're going to do about Coyle.”

Baxter frowned at the question but felt delighted that he was actually making smalltalk. - “Nothing, I suppose. Why?”

Thomas shook his head in disapproval. - “He shouldn't be getting away.”

Baxter gave him a firm look then, before reaching for his cheek, cupping it slightly. - “Neither should whatever is wearing you down right now,” she stated with a final nod. - “I mean it.”

Thomas looked to be in deep thought for a moment, and just as Baxter was about to go find a chair to sit in so that Thomas could rest some more as someone else took her place, he asked:  
\- “Does Mr. Carson know?”

A strange, unpleasant lump formed in the pit of Baxter's stomach and she couldn't find it within herself to get rid of it. - “He does,” she confirmed, - “We all know downstairs.”

Thomas let out a groan.

\- “I'm sorry,” Baxter stated, - “I truly am, but it's got to be better than people sneaking around behind your back about it, isn't it?”

Thomas muttered something under his breath which Baxter couldn't quite hear, but she had an awful feeling that it was something along the lines of 'if I wasn't here anymore, we wouldn't be having this problem', but he didn't repeat it upon her inquiry.


	4. Chapter 4 - Being Needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment between Thomas and Andy.

They had agreed to take turns, and while Andy was certain Thomas would loathe not being provided any amount of privacy for even a second, at least not over the course of the first thirty-six hours, he found himself entirely content with the situation. He was miserable, was the truth of it all. Miserable enough to not allow Mrs. Patmore's revelation from earlier influence his mood. He simply couldn't get any lower, so what was the point?

After an hour of drinking tea and desperately trying to get through the books Mr. Mason had provided for him – without much luck at that – he decided Baxter must be exhausted and aching to find a bed to rest in, so he went upstairs, knocking on the door and stepping inside. Thomas was half asleep in his bed, but woke up at the sound of his knocking.

\- “Sorry,” Andy stuttered out, - “Didn't mean to wake you.”

\- “Don't apologize,” Thomas muttered, - “It's alright.”

Baxter got up from her chair and leaned over Tomas' bed. - “Take care, my darling,” she said warmly, before straightening out his covers and going downstairs.

\- “Get some sleep,” Thomas muttered, and Baxter promised she would. It was an empty promise she was certain wouldn't be true until a few days had passed, at least.

Andy sighed deeply as he sat down in the chair. Both of them were silent for a while, not looking at each other nor saying anything.

\- “Can I get you something?” Andy asked after a long while, but Thomas shook his head no.

\- “'M fine.”

\- “No, you're not.” It was an abrupt, thoughtless and instant statement, but nonetheless it came from the heart. He let out an exasperated sigh, not quite knowing what to do with his hands before folding them in his lap. He couldn't seem to stop his right leg from shaking.

\- “Why did you do it?” He hated that his voice was at the point of breaking.

\- “Is it any of your concern?”

\- “Yes, as a matter of fact, I think it is,” Andy insisted.

Thomas looked at him, hinting at a challenge behind the darkened look of his grey eyes. - “How so?”

\- “Because I care about you,” Andy stated bluntly, - “I really do, Mr. Barrow. You have been nothing but kind to me ever since I came here, and I certainly think highly of you, so I can't begin to fathom why you couldn't spare even some of what I see in you for yourself.”

Thomas looked slightly taken aback, staring back at him in silent surprise.

Andy shook his head. This was like talking to a brick wall.

\- “That foolish teacher from the university,” Andy muttered, - “He can't teach me anything at all, did you know that?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. - “Don't be difficult, of course he can,” he insisted. - “Far better than I ever did”

\- “No,” Andy stated firmly, - “He is horribly impatient and he has this authoritarian vibe about him that frustrates me – at least you talk to me like a normal bloody human being and don't act like you're twenty times better than me...”

Thomas' eyes softened. - “It will get better,” he promised, - “Just give him a chance...”

\- “I want you to teach me again,” Andy stated, - “And that's that. Proper, formal education be damned, you managed to teach an illiterate nobody to correctly pronounce the word 'tsar' in less than a week, that's not bad, when you have me to deal with, and especially considering our material has nothing to do with tsars.”

\- “You shouldn't speak like that about yourself,” Thomas stated. He sounded casual, but there was a firmness to his tone, - “Like you're not good for anything.”

\- “Says you,” Andy shot back and regretted it immediately.

Thomas sighed. - “It's different in my case. I've done things, I've… I've hurt people.”

\- “Haven't we all?” Andy asked, genuinely questioning now.

Thomas grimaced. - “Some more than others.”

\- “That's not reason, Thomas, you must know that,” Andy said, - “And like I said, you've only ever been nice to me.”

Thomas smiled vaguely, contemplating briefly how to put his words, before going for it: - “Do you really want me to teach you again?”

Andy looked at him. - “Yes, I need you to teach me again. Will you?”

Something shifted in the older man's eyes than, something not quite like happiness but similar to it showed in his gaze. - “Of course I will.”

Andy sighed with relief. - “Thank you, Mr. Barrow.”

\- “Now?” Thomas asked, nodding to the small stock of books resting in Andy's lap. Funny, he hadn't even remembered bringing them. Must be an old habit already.

\- “No, not now, you need rest…”

\- “It's okay,” Thomas dismissed. Then he sighed shakily. - “I might need the distraction.”

Andy regarded the other man with astute consideration. Here lay a man who less than twenty-four hours ago lay lifeless in a bath tub, now ready and willing to help him out. It was a strange act of selflessness and didn't truly make sense. Then again, he knew better than to deny Thomas Barrow of his motivations, so he just shrugged.

\- “Okay, we can study for a while,” he consented, - “But promise to tell me if you get tired.”

Thomas smiled vaguely, before sitting upright. Andy got down on the bed next to him and opened the smallest of the books. They had repeated the first page four times before already, but they were in no rush. Besides, Andy could use the training. He relaxed as Thomas complimented him briefly on his progress every time he had to pronounce a word of more than two syllables.

\- “Precisely. You're getting a hold of this...”

Andy chuckled warmly, and closed his book as he witnessed Thomas falling further down onto the bed. But he didn't fall asleep. Instead he just kept looking at Andy. - “Mr. Carson thinks I'm converting you to the deep dark valley of sin or something,” he stated. He sounded far more nonchalant about it than he probably was. - “Did you know that?”

Andy was ashamed to say that he did, but he neglected to say more of Mrs. Patmore. That could only make matters worse.

\- “Why didn't you tell him the truth?” he asked.

Thomas frowned. - “After you having put enough trust in me to actually come near me, I couldn't do that to you.”

The words left a hollow ache somewhere deep within Andy's chest, and he suddenly found it hard to breathe.

\- “You're a kind man, Mr. Barrow,” he stated, and Thomas chuckled dryly in response.

\- “You might be the only person in the world coming to that conclusion.”

Andy shrugged. - “And then it doesn't matter?”

Thomas seemed to consider it for a while. - “Yes, I suppose it does.”


	5. Chapter 5 - Opportunities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My take on the Mary-visit. I wanted more from it, so I added it.

He woke up the next morning to Mrs. Patmore bringing a tray with breakfast to him. She looked like she hadn't slept all night and he couldn't blame her. It must have been quite an uproar downstairs. Knew he Carson right, he was probably worrying himself ill thinking about how to keep this within the four walls of the estate. He wondered how many of those upstairs knew. None of them? All of them? Certainly His Lordship must have known; Carson would never let something like this slip past him. Suppose it got out and he'd be the one to blame for not having spoken freely about it. No, he wouldn't have that. 

Thomas found himself bitter with his boss, certainly, but not anymore so than he had for the past decade and a half he had been working at Downton Abbey. However, a small voice in the back of his head told him he maybe should. That he had some inalienable right to, but he shrugged it off. 

Instead he focused his attention on Mrs. Patmore, thanking her with a smile as good as he could manage. Toast, eggs, tea, a pack of cigarettes. He raised an inquiring brow at the latter.

\- “Oh, Daisy insisted,” Mrs. Patmore stuttered, - “Figured you'd need something to calm you down.”

She laughed nervously before escaping. Then she stopped herself, as if about to say something. Thomas gave her a questioning look, but she decided the better of it. Told him to never mind, and went back downstairs.

It wasn't until he had smoked his first cigarette in thirty-something hours that he recognized he was alone. 

Scanning the room for opportunities, he figured he didn't want to. Not now, at this particular moment. Today he actually wanted to get out of bed. If only to grab a book from one of his drawers. Something.

Dr. Clarkson had recommended he take at least forty-eight hours. He found that odd, in a way. Why wasn't he being whipped back to work? Certainly, Mr. Carson must have wanted to. Wasn't attempting suicide illegal, by the way? Wonderful. Yet another thing he could go to prison for. He took a couple of bites of his toast before figuring he didn't want anymore. He thought about going back to sleep but figured there would be no use. He was well and truly rested. So he sat up and got out of bed. It felt odd to walk on two legs again, and he shuttered as he thought back to the last time he did so. He felt weak, knew he hadn't eaten enough within the last few hours, but couldn't muster to keep anything down. He knew that much.

He still reached for the nearest book he could find. The Secret Garden. His sister had read it to him as a child, and he didn't know if he particularly liked it or if he just had enjoyed his sister reading to him. Even so, he sat down and read, and as he did so he came to think of Baxter. Imagined her finding him, how stricken with horror her usually kind, patient features must have been. He hated himself for doing that to her. Not actually taking in the words of the book's pages, he flipped the page, and there was a knock on the door.

Not working up a response, he just fixed his gaze on the doorway, surprised to find Lady Mary standing in the doorway. Ah, so they did know upstairs as well. He couldn't help but smile as George approached him, though. They exchanged a few words, Mary expressing concern that she wanted him to get better, and him thanking her, ever so politely. It wasn't an entirely comfortable situation. Fact was, he didn't know how to react. He couldn't exactly lose posture in the same way he could with the other people downstairs, but then again, George's presence made it all a bit more comfortable.

At least there was no pity from Lady Mary. None at all, in fact, and it made him feel a bit like his old self again, if he even knew who that was. Or if that was even a good thing. They were about to leave when Mary turned, as if remembering something.

\- “And one more thing,” she stated, - “Now, do not take this the wrong way. I am not saying anyone is trying to sack you at the current moment, and I am not saying you are unlikely to find work outside of Downton should you want to. Certainly this place cannot carry only wholesome memories for you...” She paused, anticipating a reaction, but Thomas couldn't provide her with one.

She was neither right nor wrong in her sentiments, as far as he was concerned, but he was taken aback, briefly. He hadn't even thought of what they would do about him now. Perhaps Carson wouldn't hesitate to fire him as soon as he got out of bed. Worst thing was, he couldn't blame him if it was so.

\- “You are a brilliantly qualified man, Mr. Barrow, and there are plenty of routes of employment that would be fortunate to have you,” Lady Mary stated and looked as if she at least partially meant it, - “But should you still be unfortunate enough to find yourself without employment, ever, you will have a place with me. I would be happy to have you in my staff as my butler or Henry's valet, if you would care for it.” She smiled briefly at her son who was now tugging at her coat. - “God knows this one wouldn't mind.”

Thomas could just stare at her, unsure whether or not he had heard her correctly. True, he didn't want to stay in service all his life, but he wasn't getting any younger, yet still remained too young for retirement. It was nice to at least know that something was out there for him.

\- “Milady...” He didn't know what else to say.

\- “You can at least consider,” she said, - “Trust me, I am well aware you are made for greater things, but...”

\- “Thank you,” he interrupted, - “Thank you so much, milady, you have no idea...”

Lady Mary smiled then, and it appeared real enough. There was a certain warmth to it that exposed her sincerity.

\- “We can discuss it once you get better,” she stated, - “Bye now.”

He muttered a bye, before waving at her son, and flopping down onto the bed. Then he got out of it, stripped out of his pajamas and sat aside his uniform.


	6. Chapter 6 - Back To Work?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment between Thomas and Mrs. Hughes.

Mrs. Hughes was surprised to find him out of bed. She had been concerned leaving him alone for even a second, let alone two hours, but the people upstairs had a lot to do in preparations of Lady Mary's wedding to Henry Talbot, and the servants were needed. Besides, Carson had been persistent on not making a fuzz about the 'suicidal footman in the attic', a comment for which Mrs. Hughes wouldn't have hesitated to slap him, had he not been her husband.

She figured she could afford to slip away for a moment once she had noted that the menus had been taken care of and the flowers ordered. Despite public opinion, there were actually more important concerns than Lady Mary's wedding to attend to in this house. Like the 'suicidal under-butler', thank you very much. She excused herself to Lady Mary, stating that she needed to see to Mr. Barrow, and was immediately and enthusiastically excused.

\- “Please do, I don't wish for him to be alone at this particular moment.”

Neither do I, Mrs. Hughes thought, before going upstairs and knocking on his door.

\- “Come in,” a low voice stated from inside and she was glad to hear him speak, and even more so to see him up and walking. He didn't look to be doing anything, as he was dressed in his uniform, cigarette in hand.

\- “Going back to work so soon?” she inquired, not entirely certain that was the best idea.

\- “I don't know,” he answered truthfully. - “Do I still have work to go to?”

\- “Don't be silly,” Mrs Hughes scolded, and Thomas smiled humorlessly.

\- “I wasn't, actually.” He took a drag of his cigarette.

Mrs. Hughes sighed and sat down on the bed. It was made neatly.

\- “I should probably take a bath before doing so anyway,” Thomas stated, and Mrs. Hughes felt like every horrible thing the world had to offer had been released to swallow her whole.

\- “I apologize if this is too forward, but I will not allow you to do that alone,” she protested.

Thomas let out a shaky breath before putting the cigarette back to his lips. He still looked pale but in his normal attire he at least looked like Mr. Barrow again.

\- “I know,” he declared, with a slight stutter, head held as high as he could muster, - “Good. Because I think I might need your help.”

It was a grander admission than Mrs. Hughes thought she would ever realize. He didn't want to die, at this particular moment, not truly. He was just scared he was going to. So she just gave him a confirming nod. - “Very well, then,” she stated, - “Let's get you downstairs.”

*

They managed to make it downstairs unseen. Daisy and Mrs. Patmore were busy in the kitchen, and the rest of the servants were upstairs. Mrs. Hughes kept guard outside the door, informing him to call for her if his head started playing with him.

\- “No one and nothing is worth you putting an end to it all,” she stated firmly before he went into the bathroom, - “Not even this unfortunate lot in life you've been dealt.”

He smiled vaguely at that before going inside.

It was worse of a flashback than he had thought, but so far, so good. He reached for one of the razor blades on the sink, keeping it in his hand for a moment, shaking as he did so, regarding it as if it was an old enemy, knowing all too well what kind of danger it was capable of. What he was capable of. He put it down onto the edge of the bathtub, before getting undressed, wincing as his bandages came into conflict with his clothing. He undressed completely this time, undergarments and all, and climbed into the tub. He sat there for a long while after having washed his hair, just staring at the small, insignificant metal object in his hand. It was quite the ugly sight, really. His damaged left hand, forever a testament to his cowardice, accompanied by what he had wished so intently to end his life with. He didn't realize he was crying until there were droplets in the water. He hated himself well and true enough, but did he want to die? Right now. At this moment. No. If anything, he had given Mrs. Hughes his word. She was outside, worrying herself sick. He couldn't do that to her. Not right now. What if they weren't lying? What if someone actually needed him? What if Andy's words from the day before had been true. It seemed ridiculous to hope, to even think of a hope seemed silly, but he forced himself to do so, if only for those fifteen minutes he lay in the tub.

He got up after that, bringing the blade with him and looking at himself in the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes, he seemed hollow, somewhat, and he was still excruciatingly pale. He covered his face with soap and brought the blade to his face, without thinking, and gently as ever rid himself of any overdue stubble. Once satisfied with the result, he abandoned the vanity as if it was a burning building and went to put his uniform back on.

He turned back to the vanity, deliberately keeping his eyes off the little piece of metal located right before him, as he groomed through his hair. Then he reached for the glove and tightened it around his hand. It felt thick and awkward around the bandage, and not the least bit painless, but as he met his gaze in the mirror again, he hardly recognized himself. Or he recognized himself to well. 

The circles didn't appear so dark anymore. He moved the fingers of his left hand, forcing them into the confines of the glove again. Then he raised his eyebrows to his own reflection. Well, at least you didn't mess this up.

Outside, Mrs. Hughes was still waiting, tapping her foot, and looking more than enthusiastic to see him. - “Ah, there you are!” A hint of a smile made its way on his features.

\- “Back to work?” she asked.

He sighed deeply. - “Back to work, it is.”


	7. Chapter 7 - Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Carson's perspective as he shares a brief moment with Mary. This chapter does contain some level of period-typical homophobia which naturally doesn't reflect any of my personal views.

\- “Milady, if you'll have me excused, I have to go upstairs to see to Mr. Barrow.”

\- “Oh, please do! I don't wish for him to be alone at this particular moment.”

Mr. Carson watched the conversation unfold between the two of them and huffed in annoyance before calling to his wife, reminding her of his warnings not to make any fuzz.

\- “Oh, calm down, will you?” she scolded, before abandoning his wishes entirely and stalking upstairs.

He loved her dearly but didn't understand her sometimes. He had watched the reaction of Lady Mary as she had received the news, given how His Lordship hadn't been able to keep quiet once he broke them to him. They were shocked, he supposed. He couldn't deny that he was so himself. That being said, there was something else, too. He felt a tremendous sense of guilt, and while he would much prefer for the matter not to be spoken of, he remained entirely uncertain of how to rid himself off it. He would, provided it was within His Lordship's agreements, of course, have to hesitate in his firing of Mr. Barrow. That much was clear. He would give him a few more months at the very least.

It was strange and probably unfair as well how his perception of the man had changed upon finding out of his attempt. It sounded rotten in hindsight, but he had never suspected the man to have much heart. Then again, maybe he was just tremendously clever at hiding it. He would be lying was he to say that the more or less doubtful sides to Thomas' nature didn't play a part in his outlook on him, and they hadn't been made any better by his past wrongdoings. Carson was still not entirely sure whether the man was in his good graces or not, whether he could trust him.

He had learned from Mrs. Patmore yesterday that her concerns in regards to Andy had been none to worry about, as Mr. Barrow had only helped him with his reading, which Carson had been happy to find out. Saved them from one less possible scandal at the very least.

Could he have been entirely wrong about the man? Could it be that he was just immeasurably lonely, that something in his background had made him so insufferable? Suddenly Carson was left questioning his own values and motives and it was not at all a scenario he was comfortable in.  
He felt a hand on his elbow right then, and relaxed upon finding Lady Mary smiling at him.

\- “I have something I wish to inform you about. Do you care to join me in the library?” she asked, and Carson muttered an 'Of course, milady', before following her.  
She had poured her own tea ever since hearing the news of Mr. Barrow, and Carson couldn't shake the thought that this must have affected her something terribly.

Lady Mary sighed and sat down on the couch, prompting Carson to join her. He actually had to suppress a chuckle at it being the same couch he and Mrs. Hughes had 'tested' the other day while the others went picnicking, but he didn't think Lady Mary noticed. Had she, he was certain she wouldn't mind all that much.

Cup in hand, Lady Mary started talking. - “I have been thinking about Barrow,” she stated, stirring her tea gently absentmindedly.

\- “You shouldn't focus too much on that, milady,” Carson advised, - “You have big days ahead of you.”

Mary smiled vaguely. - “But how can I not? He is… family, I think is the proper word.”

Carson frowned. - “I don't know if I would take it that far, milady...”

\- “But he is,” she insisted, - “As much growing up as Edith and I have to do in terms of each other, he did save her from the horrible fire.”

\- “He did what any decent man would do, milady,” Carson prompted, and Mary relaxed back into the couch, shaking her head slightly, as if to clear it.

\- “He is wonderful with the children, too,” she stated, - “With all of them. And he seems genuine.” She laughed briefly, suddenly. - “They won't stop talking about him at times, it is almost annoying.”

\- “He has a responsibility to them,” Carson insisted, and Mary sighed.

\- “Whatever you have to say about the matter, I have made Mr. Barrow an offer. And as I respect your opinions in regards to how a house should be staffed, I felt it correct to inform you.”

Carson frowned deeper. - “What offer would that be, milady?”

Lady Mary sighed. - “I'm afraid you won't approve, but I have already made up my mind and that's final,” she warned, - “I have proposed for Mr. Barrow to serve as my butler or Henry's valet should he not find other employment after Downton. Frankly, I see no reason for either you or Papa to fire him, but that is your decision-making, which I have no say in. But I will and shall happily have him in my employment should it seem necessary.”

Her words were final, and Carson couldn't argue. Still, God knew he wanted to, so he was determined to get in a few choice words before finally succumbing to Lady Mary's decision.

\- “Milady, I understand your motives, and I respect them as I do you, but do you honestly think that is the best idea? Given his fragile psyche and… You know, something is twisted in that man, you must know that...”

Lady Mary's eyes widened then, and for a moment his words carried absolutely no meaning. No purpose. Then she regained posture.

\- “My word is final, my dear Carson,” she stated, - “And I am sorry, but you and I have different definitions of the word 'twisted', if you don't mind my saying. Mr. Barrow knows my child and he loves my child, as I am certain he will any others I might or might not have in the future.”

She drew a deep breath before taking a sip of her tea. Mr. Carson remained silent.

\- “Besides,” she said, and there was a hint of a smile in her eyes now, - “What if they had taken you away from me?”

Something in the back of Carson's mind recognized she was right. Or at least that she might have had a point. He could only form a sheepish smile, before getting out of his chair. - “Very well, milady,” he stated, - “I am sorry if I offended you.”

\- “Not at all,” Lady Mary insisted, - “I am just a woman who likes getting her way.”

Carson chuckled mildly before escaping the library and returning to his duties. Lord knew his favorite Crawley-sister had given him something to think about.


	8. Chapter 8 - False Concern

Daisy noticed him as he was about to go upstairs, and she couldn't contain her excitement. In a wave of bliss she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He stiffened, not at all used to the comforting gesture, but managed to put his hand on her back for slight emphasis.

\- “I'm so glad to see you're getting better!”

Thomas smiled at her, preferring to be anywhere but there mostly. Thankfully, only she and Mrs. Patmore were in the kitchen at the moment.

\- “Daisy, let the poor man have some privacy and help me with the sausages!” Mrs. Patmore scolded and Thomas couldn't have been more grateful for her than at that given moment.

As he entered the halls of the upper stories of the estate, he felt more at ease. This he could do, the routines. Hold the door, serve whichever important guests were present – which were none other than a distant cousin from Southampton at the moment – take the coats, making sure everyone was satisfied. He called for Mr. Carson the moment he got up. He was standing next to the doorway to one of the libraries, in which Lady Mary and her cousin were chatting amicably about wedding dresses.

He was certain Mr. Carson hadn't noticed him, had he not come to stand right next to him.

\- “I just came to inform you that I'm ready to work when...” He stopped himself, - “Should you need me to, Mr. Carson.”

Carson's eyes widened and he looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. Thomas didn't exactly know how to react, other than with mild concern as it was entirely possible his boss was losing his memory at his old age. That would have been sadistically amusing, if he dared say so himself. Then Carson regained his posture and looked like Carson again. Neither Lord Grantham nor Lady Mary had seen him yet, a matter with which he felt quite comfortable.

He had read something about that once, that every fragment of your imagination is made up of things you have seen before. So if everyone in this room now only saw him absentmindedly through their peripherals without actually paying attention to him being there, and only acknowledging it in their subconscious, it would be less of a situation when they actually came to properly acknowledge his presence. He preferred to keep it that way.

\- “We should probably go for a walk, Mr. Barrow,” Mr. Carson said then. There was nothing Thomas felt less like doing, but it was better than being the subject of pity and false concern in regards to his well-being. At least Carson wouldn't offer any amount of concern whatsoever. So he complied.


	9. Chapter 9 - Better Than Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't know which season it's supposed to be at the moment on the show, so I am settling for the current one. It's autumn. There, that's final.
> 
> That's all, folks. I'm not the best writer and English isn't my native language, but I couldn't get these scenarios out of my head.

The small-talk was insufferable at worst and uncomfortable at best.

\- “How are your wounds healing?”

\- “Quite well, I believe.” I didn't cut deep enough, was the problem.

\- “Good, good… And how are you feeling right now?”

Do you care? - “I'm fine.” A complete and utter lie.

They walked in silence for quite some time. The soft autumn breeze sending a shiver down his spine, but it still felt incredibly refreshing to actually be outside for a change, to breathe fresh air. 

Ironically, he reached for a pack of cigarettes, offering Carson one, which he declined. It dawned on him that he didn't know whether Carson smoked or not. There wasn't a lot Thomas knew about Mr. Carson, to be frank. Except that he carried a soft spot for Lady Mary and was head over heels in love with Mrs. Hughes. He felt that hole deep within him widen at the thought of him never having what they had; unconditional love in their older years.

\- “Mr. Carson, I know there is an inconvenience here with...”

\- “I am so sorry, my lad.”

Thomas blinked. - “What?” He didn't know what else to say. Maybe the loss of blood had started playing with his mind and he was hallucinating? Carson couldn't even look at him, and if Thomas was any good at reading people, his boss was deeply troubled.

\- “I am so sorry for the way I have treated you lately.” His voice was its natural calm self, but the look in his eyes seemed haunted somehow.

Then the lump was forming again, threatening to spill over, and he didn't even know why he felt like crying. He wasn't touched as much as he was angry, a sense of righteous fury pouring through his veins, and he wanted to lash out at something, someone. How could he say that now? What if it had been too late? Then he figured he must be ridiculous and turned to face the other man, a forced smile plastered on his face.

-”You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Carson.”

He actually meant it, if anyone was to blame for this, it was himself. He had some goddamn responsibility for himself, didn't he?

Carson nodded in solitude, before resting a hand on his shoulder. Thomas didn't know how to react. - “Very well,” Mr. Carson said, - “Then that is settled.” He drew a deep breath before deciding to head inside. - “I will speak with His Lordship about keeping you on for as long as you need to be here,” he called back to him, - “I can guarantee you that.”

Thomas nodded his hat in his direction as he watched him walk inside. - “Thank you, Mr. Carson.”

As the older man was out of reach, he found the nearest bench, sat down, rested his head in his hands and wept. For everything leading up to this moment. For him being here, for the possibility of not being here, for life and death and love and lack thereof, for the gentle concern his friends had provided for him as of recently, for not deserving it, for the astute relief of even having any friends, for their guilt, for his own guilt in regards to their guilt, for his future which no longer seemed non-existent, just dark and lonely, and he cried for Andy and Baxter who found him and for everyone he had hurt and for Edward and for Jimmy…

And if this was what redemption felt like, if this was paying the price for your mistakes, it was a much harsher punishment than death could ever be.

But it dawned on him then, as the first flakes of white snow hit his dark coat, that even so – he would take it. Because no matter how painful, it was certainly better than feeling nothing.


End file.
